


Indulging in an Old-Fashioned Romance

by Jade_Dragoness



Series: Slow and Steady Series [10]
Category: The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: A Successful Date - Freeform, Beer, Blowjobs, First Time Blow Jobs, Harry's Terrible Jokes, If it Gets Interrupted Marcone Will Kill the One Responsible - Freeform, M/M, Marcone Has No Chill, POV Johnny Marcone, POV Third Person, Post - Small Favor, Roses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:33:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27318565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jade_Dragoness/pseuds/Jade_Dragoness
Summary: Romance wasn’t a dirty word, but with the kind of life that John has chosen to live it sometimes felt like it, at least until Harry Dresden grabbed his attention.
Relationships: Harry Dresden/Johnny Marcone
Series: Slow and Steady Series [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/8004
Comments: 40
Kudos: 202





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Argh, I intended to have this fic finished for Harry's birthday (yes its still Halloween at this moment) but only got to about 85%... maybe 80% complete. So have part 1 of 2. Also second part will earn this fic an explicit rating, btw. And should be posted soonishly... *crosses fingers RL doesn't interfere*

John Marcone sat calmly on the leather seat of one of his armored cars, suppressing the urge to tap his right foot impatiently even as the car cleared the secured garage and pulled smoothly onto the Chicago’s street. His security net made their own moves to follow them into the evening air.

John took a couple measured breaths before deliberately channeling his energy into a check for tails. He doubted anyone following them would be able to keep pace with the town car when Ms. Gard was driving as it required skills outside the ability of most drivers. Her supernaturally swift reflexes left a significant majority of human drivers eating her road dust.

Regardless of the skill of his employees, John needed to do something even if it only bore a superficial semblance to being productive. And it had to be something other than looking through his phone to read updates from his troubleshooters in the field, or new reports from his captains and spies on any movement from the Barinovs.

They, so far, appeared to be holding true to the ceasefire they had requested a couple of days after their poor choice to send their strike team after Harry Dresden. It was an act which still made John seethe with anger, even if the resulting video in his possession had quickly become a treasured item. He’d been tempted to refuse the Barinovs, and had only bent enough to listen to their representative because Hendricks had reminded him of his own words: that he didn’t have the manpower to expand his territory again (at least not for another six to eight months). As it was the last three days had been glutted with the Barinovs as they’d begun the opening negotiations in order to hammer out an armistice.

John was tired of thinking about them so he ignored his smartphone.

He sat across from Hendricks, who was currently scrolling through his own phone, keeping abreast of the reports from the security team. John cradled a dozen long stemmed red roses in the elbow of his left arm before admitting to himself that he felt out of place holding them. He set them beside him on the car seat. The movement refreshed the sweet scent of roses in the air.

Hendricks, who knew him too well and who could at times be practically telepathic (something John had wondered about on more than one occasion before admitting there was nothing supernatural about his friend’s knack) had accurately read the gesture for what it was, a sign of John’s hidden discomfort. He shot John an amused glance.

John pointedly ignored him.

The awkwardness John was feeling was not something he at all used to these days but then romance, for all of his persistence in conducting a slow and steady seduction with the aim of ensnaring Harry Dresden, wasn’t something he was naturally bent to consider. At least not the old-fashioned sort which Harry apparently embraced as a way of life. John thought he could have been better about it once when he had been younger, long before he’d made a certain choice about this life and about the sort of people who would be in it. Or wouldn’t be in it as the case might be.

But now he had made another choice, changing the trajectory of his life into a new direction that at times the ground underneath his feet felt unstable. Or more accurately, new and untrodden.

Indulging in his feelings was something he hadn’t considered in years as it would have meant developing a weakness which could be exploited. When he’d been establishing his hold on the business, he hadn’t dared show any vulnerability or a possible hint of one. Even later with his power base firmly established he hadn’t dared lower his guard, as too many men from the previous outfit had survived his purges of the inept, disloyal, and unwilling to obey his orders. At least until Harry Dresden upended his sense of what was possible with an ease which failed to convey exactly how powerful a force for change he could be… even years before John began feeling anything more than the desire to have a claim on the man’s loyalty, a say in how he worked and in which enemies he’d gear up to fight.

Had John ever succeeded getting Harry to agree to work for him that would have been the status the relationship would have remained. A strictly a professional arrangement.

What was building between them now certainly couldn’t be categorized as such.

Even if the relationship he’d sought with the man had been solely sexual it would have been vastly easier to slot it into his personal life (a rather Spartan one as Hendricks often remarked) as he could have indulged in feeding a basic human drive without making it complicated. But in all ways which were remarkably consistent with his personality, Harry Dresden required vastly more effort. And John suspected, at times, had visual directions drawn by M.C. Escher.

Fortunately, seduction was a skill which he honed and kept sharp as Gentleman Johnnie Marcone, although all he usually used it for was to gently persuade certain obstinate personalities to change their opinions about business practices to match his own. Intimidation may work as means of persuasion but it usually failed in having long-term staying power. Too often it created an enemy bidding his or her time until they could turn the tables. For some personalities, it was the equivalent of throwing down a glove of challenge, provoking only obstinance and defiance.

And John was not only talking about Harry.

However intimacy… romance with a long-term goal to gain a partner on the other hand was anything but simple. Even making the decision to take the first step necessary to express the depth of his…his devotion, had been difficult and hardly something John had sought to do. That he’d even admitted to it in the first place had been as a bargain to acquire vital information.

A year ago the very subject of conducting a relationship with anyone which couldn’t be begun with monetary, or a similar, incentive and ended just as easily would have been unthinkable. Ridiculous. Utterly foolish and irresponsible to draw another into the life he chosen to lead as the head of Chicago’s underworld.

Helen Beckitt’s decision to feed him to the wolves (an idiom with a particular power with him considering his history) had proved he was vulnerable even in such a relationship. Her actions had also served as a reminder that whomever he took to bed wasn’t rendered incapacitated by personal proximity. They were as dangerous as any other individual in his life and could just as easily use it against him.

So unless he planned to be celibate for the foreseeable future – unlikely – or settle for pretty but ultimately uninteresting partners for the rest of his life – _unbearable_ – he needed to make another choice.

What proved to be difficult was finding someone who had the strength to be unscathed by the dangers which circled John’s periphery as hunting predators, both of the mundane and supernatural, yet was also personally fascinating to his own tastes (he ignored how often Hendricks pointed out his only _type_ were people who: “Personally hate your guts and want to kill you, Johnny.”). His options had always been limited, at least until his heart, an organ he’d thought had been under his strict control until it laughed defiantly in his face, had decided to act on its down and develop all manner of inappropriate feelings.

For Harry Blackstone ‘I will burn down your buildings and raise your insurance rates’ Copperfield Dresden.

John would be lying if he claimed his obsession with everything Harry Dresden had only begun when his feelings had shifted (being rescued by the man had had an effect, as much as he tried to deny its hold). He wasn’t blind to how every yearly, or so, encounter with the wizard always resulted in his jerk-off sessions being powered by new material. Or how often the memory of a baritone voice, saying “Please... Pretty please.” was enough to tip him over into a blinding orgasm.

But even his own fascination with the man wouldn’t have amounted to anything more than a quiet longing which he would have kept tightly locked down in his mind and not allowed to have so much as a whisper of influence on his actions, if it hadn’t been for how Harry had taken the news of John’s attraction to him.

The man had never been shy and retiring in expressing his disgust and anger with John in the past, so he had fully expected a repeat of a similar scene from the wizard. But then Harry had caught him off guard by reacting with surprise. _Only_ with surprise. That he hadn’t expressed an immediate refusal – or shouted angrily or tried to set the restaurant on fire – had been what had led John to make the choice to actively pursue him.

How could he not? He hadn’t been rejected outright. And even weeks later, as he’d began his courting with gifts, a rejection failed to manifest. Harry’s reaction had told him everything he’d needed to know. 

There was a chance however slender. It existed. 

The revelation had woken something inside John he’d thought was dead, buried, and paved over with concrete. It _sustained_ him. 

Only then did he begin the implementation of a months long campaign made at a pace which would have frustrated his younger self to recklessness. Once, he would have pushed and pushed and lost any advantage he would have won through his impatience. 

Because there were _gains_ and a slow advancement of ground which filled him with a sense of satisfaction at every inch won. Harry Dresden was stubborn, angry, full of stiff-necked pride, dangerous and yet for all his flaws also the most _heroic_ person John had ever met. Everything he ever learned about the man, every insight, and even the baring of his soul had only ever fed John’s certainty that the man would be determined to outlast the sun itself if he decided it was the right thing to do.

Years ago Harry had come to the decision that he would have nothing to do with having John Marcone in his life. Convincing him otherwise had taken every skill he’d acquired and honed. John needed tactics, planning and patience and luck. Ultimately it had forced John to be more truthful about his motivations than he was used to being with anyone, other than Hendricks. 

Anything less would have meant failure as Harry knew him too well to be fooled by any facade and he’d always been far too insightful for lies to have much of a sway over him. Not that John made it a policy to lie to Harry, but he had to be far more open and… expressive than he’d usually allow himself to be with the wizard (the stone has to bleed a little). Harry had always been able to read him from their first meeting, an advantage from their shared soulgaze, but the barrier of self-control John had always raised in his presence had to be lowered so that man could see more of him than John had allowed previously. 

Even then, he needed to be persistent for he knew that Harry considered every move he made to be a trick of some sort.

At times it had felt as if John was trying to convince a phoenix to cool his flames down long enough so he could stroke the glowing feathers with his fingertips. So he could show the sincerity of his admiration and letting him feel the passion which fueled those fierce fires if only for a moment. 

Then his persistence had paid off.

John finally, _finally_ got the chance for what he’d wanted for months: an uninterrupted evening and Harry’s sole attention. 

That John would finally be getting the chance to do more than kiss him. To actually touch him and not be rejected. To know down to his bone marrow that Harry had also made another choice, one to allow _him_ close… the thought of this evening had driven John to distraction for the last few days. 

Now, it made his heart pound like war drum.

“We’re here, boss,” Hendricks said, his tone and expression was professional but his blue eyes were dancing with amusement. The town car was now parked and idling on the street before the boarding house which held in its basement the man who had so captivated John’s thoughts that he hadn’t even noticed they’d arrived at their destination.

John did _not_ glower at his friend. 

“So I see. Thank you, Mr. Hendricks,” he said instead, trying to maintain some level of dignity, although the act was more for the sake of Gard’s ever-watchful eyes than anyone else. He was all too aware of how his magical consultant kept glancing back at them through the rear-view mirror with a speculative expression. John idly wondered how detailed her report to Vadderung would be. He put the question away, as he always suspected the answer was ‘as detailed as possible’.

John waited to follow Hendricks out of the car, letting him have the lead time to sweep the streets for snipers, check the angles of attack or even for any sight of their own people being careless with their choice of cover. Hendricks had set up the security detail and he was a stickler for making certain that their troubleshooters kept out of sight unless absolutely necessary. 

“You have the SOS device?” Hendricks asked, after he signaled an all-clear.

“Of course,” John said quietly, letting his bodyguard fuss in his own way. He was fully aware of how Hendricks hated the idea that he would be stepping into what as the magical equivalent of Fort Knox. Harry’s apartment was so entrenched with spells of both offense and defense it was a stronghold capable or resisting anything which Hendricks, Gard, or the rest of the security team could throw at it for hours on end before the shields were finally exhausted and could be breached. Or so Gard had explained and John’s own agents had verified with reports with details how the apartment it had withstood previous attacks.

It was a window of time which, if John was in danger, would be utterly useless in providing him with a successful rescue. Assuming, of course, his security even noticed there was any danger in the first place, as the basement apartment was a dead zone to any electronic and magical monitoring. John had had to ruefully admit defeat after years of attempting to gain access of one type or another.

Only the rune inscribed onto the back of John’s watch kept Hendrick from fully expressing his unhappy feelings about the situation (he refused to admit that Harry wouldn’t actively try to kill John at some point even if he no longer actually believed it). He still grumbled, of course, but his mutters of dissatisfaction were muted since Gard had provided John with the means of calling for help. A rune spell, with the power to punch through any ward no matter how powerful, even if only for split-second as the second part of the spellwork, a magical SOS signal, got out and alerted Gard. 

“We’ll be at the site A,” Hendricks said quietly.

John nodded at him in acknowledgment, adjusted his hold on the red roses and strode towards Harry’s front door.

The excited energy he’d been wrestling with changed in the way he was used to when he went into combat. His senses felt sharper, he became more alert of his surroundings, he grew aware of the flow of his clothing against his skin, the roughness of the cement steps under the rubber sole of his shoes, the weight of his knives in their sheathes and the guns in their holsters, the cooling evening air, and the sounds of passing cars. Even with Chicago’s light pollution blocking out most of the stars he was aware of the brightest ones sparkling overhead and the waxing crescent moon on the horizon. 

Excitement threatened to take over, heating his veins and increasing his breathing. At least until, John took a couple of slow calming breaths, refusing to let adrenaline have a hold on his actions or thoughts. Uncontrolled adrenaline made you stupid which then quickly made you dead. That had been a lesson he learned early in life and had never forgotten.

He knocked firmly at the steel security door.

John tilted his head slightly as he heard a muffled thump. He didn’t bother to suppress a smile at what sounded like cursing from familiar baritone voice. He also didn’t hide away his amusement as Harry wrenched the heavy steel door open, slowly as it was badly fitted into the door frame.

The smell of wood smoke and burning wax candles curled out, followed by the scent cooking meat and at its heels was the smell of soap and clean water. Below that there was the faint odor of dog, and a smell John had always associated with libraries, that of many old books in one place.

Harry Dresden stood before him. No shoes but he was wearing socks adorned with the symbol of the Rebel Alliance. He also wore a black t-shirt and dark-smoke jeans, both which looked new. John’s attention was briefly arrested by the sight of Harry’s hair in a damp disarray but curling a little at the edges as it dried. He had shaved off the six o’clock stubble he would usually be sporting by now. It made the stubborn strength of his chin and the cut of his cheeks all the bolder. Cheeks which were currently flushed pink, John noted with interest, edging closer to red the longer John stood there admiring him.

John couldn’t help but find the entire view charming. And incredibly attractive. He mentally slotted it into his mental collection of all things Harry Dresden.

“Good evening, Harry,” John said, leaning against the doorway although not crossing the threshold. His smiled widening with every silent second which ticked by. 

He was aware of the tableau he made as he was framed by the door. He wearing a black leather jacket (a deliberate choice to echo Harry’s own coat), a light-gray button down shirt which had been tailored to be chest-hugging while not giving away his weapons and his own pair of black jeans which were equally made to fit. His hair wasn’t slicked back as was his usual choice but was instead styled just enough not to get in his eyes but otherwise was loose.

Harry’s immediate swallow wasn’t as quiet as he probably thought it was.

“Wow, you weren’t kidding about the roses,” Harry finally said after his dark eyes had flickering over John’s body, their surroundings and back to John again, before settling on the flowers. 

“You know I keep my word to you,” John said quietly, letting the history of that statement roll over them both. He held out the bouquet of long-stem red roses so that the soft petals just brushed the boundary of the threshold but didn’t quite breach it.

It was Harry who broke the unseen line, reaching out to take them even as his eyes locked onto to John’s own. 

John felt a surge of satisfaction. Harry didn’t meet many people’s eyes. And even knowing the real reason for the aversion – avoiding the activation of a soulgaze – John couldn’t help but feel pleased whenever Harry would meet his eyes. It always felt like he’d won some unspecified victory whenever it happened.

As always, John took the moment to gaze back to his heart’s content, admiring the fire which burned in Harry’s eyes. It was probably an odd metaphor to use to describe irises whose color could range from oak brown to coal black depending on the lighting but there was a flame burning in them which was impossible to describe in any other fashion. Intelligence, determination, anger or sheer cussedness take your pick of reason, the fire was always there.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, after beat. “Well, come on in.”

He moved aside and revealed his large gray dog. It said a lot of how deeply John’s attention was focused solely on Harry that he hadn’t even noticed the massive animal. “Oh, right,” Harry added, after a moment as he’d also been taken by surprise. “Um... this is Mouse.”

John eyed the dog which was even bigger up close than the photographs had made him look. He remembered Gard’s very clear explanation that a temple guardian may look like a rather large, leonine dog but they were in fact celestial beings with an intelligence on par, or even greater, than most humans. Their power, in defense of whatever they considered to be their duty to protect, was _not_ to be challenged. At least not without an army at your back, and even then, it had better be a well-trained, heavily equipped army and one prepared to take many casualties.

John held out his right hand, palm up. “It is an honor to meet you, Mouse.”

Harry’s eyes flickered, and his mouth twitched upwards, clearly catching that John knew his dog was no ordinary animal.

The temple guardian watched John for a moment before lifting an immense paw and putting it with utmost delicacy onto John’s palm. It dwarfed his hand rather easily, the foot pads were soft but the black nails which rested against John’s inner wrist felt sharp. He had the impression it was meant as deliberate and subtle warning. John met the dog’s eyes for a second before he gently gripped the paw, shook it once and released it.

Mouse’s jaw dropped into a doggy smile and his tail began to wag before he lifted his paw away.

Harry’s smiled was brighter than before. “He’s gonna keep an eye on the front door for us,” Harry explained. 

John stood aside as the dog walked past. Mouse settled down patiently at the landing at the bottom of the steps. The guardian’s attention was focused on any dangers coming in from the outside. John suspected that if any threats managed to get through his own security net, they wouldn’t be getting past Harry’s own.

He turned away to leave the temple guardian to his work. He finally, finally, set foot into Harry’s home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday, Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden! *eats chocolate in celebration*


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied, apparently when I posted part 1 I wasn't at 80% done with the fic, I was closer to 40%. I'm somewhat concerned that every installment appears to be growing longer. Whyyyyy?  
> Brain: To torture you, obviously.  
> Me: Aargh!
> 
> Also, I was so tempted to title this chapter: John Marcone has no chill.

John had known the layout of the basement apartment, having gotten a hold of the city’s blue-prints of the boarding house. But that didn’t mean he’d known _how_ Harry had made it his home (there were limits to what his agents could uncover, regretfully). But everything about it from the lit candles on nearly every flat surface, to the overflowing wooden bookshelves, to the plethora of rugs which covered a carpeted floor, even the tapestries softening the cement walls into something more welcoming was nothing like he’d imagined and yet not one bit of it surprised him.

John didn’t think himself as a psychologist of any stripe, but he had developed the skill of being able to assess his surroundings through the necessity of survival, and everything about Harry’s home read of a man with limited resources but who also didn’t care that much about the look or the age of the items he purchased but instead focused on how they felt. 

A hedonist in his own particular fashion. 

It was telling that other than a few of the bookshelves, there were no sharp corners on anything. Even the fireplace’s hearth was rounded stone and its mantle was carved smooth wood full of curves.

Everything about the place was thoroughly Harry Dresden.

He noted the leather cowboy boots near the door by a large popcorn tin filled with all manner of items including Harry’s staff. He was dismayed at the carelessness shown to such a powerful weapon yet an irreverent regard for power was so in keeping with Harry’s character that John closed his eyes for a moment in exasperation. He also felt an impulse to touch the magical tool with his bare fingers, wondering if he’d feel the thrum of magic under his fingertips if he did. Or would he feel nothing, as the power was bound up in the wizard not in his paraphernalia.

John turned away. Out of politeness, he slipped out of his own shoes before stepping onto the rugs. He also shrugged out of his leather jacket and letting it rest on the back of a nearby chair as he hadn’t seen any coat hooks near the door entrance.

At the sight of his guns in their shoulder holsters, Harry shot him a look of disbelief as he struggled to shut the security door one-handed without crushing his roses. “Really, you’re armed? Even here?”

“It’s not as if I teleported to your front step.” But John conceded that he hardly needed to have guns at hand while inside of Harry’s home, so he undid the harness and left them by the coat. 

“Okay, I’ll give you that,” said Harry as he finally managed to close his front door. Then he took a few long steps and caught John with one arm around his back to hold him in place before kissing him. Amusingly, Harry kept his scarred hand holding the bouquet away, trying to keep the roses safe from harm.

John instantly tilted his head back, fascinated by how the man kissed. Harry always started off gently, like he was wary of any movement causing harm. John reached up so he could cup Harry’s head, guiding the kiss. John opened his mouth and Harry flickered his tongue against John’s own, sparking a flame of lust in his gut at the slick wet feel of him. No, that wasn’t accurate, it made the moldering embers, which has begun burning several night ago, flare up renewed with new fuel. John’s hunger for him hadn’t abated it had just dialed down so he could make it through the last few days without losing his focus. Or his mind.

But now John had Harry in his arms. He was feeling his body heat. John was tasting him with his mouth. 

God, even underneath the scent of soap he also smelled of sweet wood-smoke. 

John went up on his toes, using his hold to devour Harry’s mouth. Willingly, Harry opened his mouth wider, letting John sweep in with his tongue. John’s heartbeat thundered away.

Mental images flickered behind John’s closed eyelids of a naked Harry on his stomach with those gorgeous long legs spread open for him. Or panting above him or sitting on his lap, taking John’s cock with rolling hips and an arching back making his own erection bob delightfully in front of him even as those dark-fire eyes heated with want and stared down at John, demanding everything he had.

John started growing hard. He growled low in his throat, the vibration echoing into Harry’s throat, making him gasp.

“You – you brought me roses,” Harry panted, as if John needed an explanation before kissing him again.

John didn’t care what the reason was, although he noted that if a bouquet of roses got him this sort of attention then he was going to seriously consider expanding his business investments into florists in the foreseeable future. 

Or to spare himself of the mocking look Hendricks was bound to give him at the idea… he could test to see if he’d get a similar reaction from hand-delivering the collection of carefully curated gifts he had acquired for his task of seducing Harry. Most which the man wasn’t even aware existed, as he had penned his letter for John to stop with the gifting after only receiving – and returning – a few of them.

John thought they would be more happily accepted now.

His right hand drifted down Harry’s long back, enjoying the feel of him through his thin cotton shirt even as John directing them toward the wide couch he’d noted before the lit fireplace. John hit the edge of the seat with the back of his legs and deliberately fell back onto the plush cushions, pulling Harry in after him.

Harry continued kissing him, although his right hand was braced against the couch as if he didn’t dare let his entire weight rest on John. It appeared to take Harry a moment to realize he hardly outweighed John enough to do him any damage before settling on him.

John didn’t bother being subtle about what he wanted, pulling at Harry’s shirt and tugging at the top of his jeans until the top button was undone and the zipper down. Only then did he slide his hands into the other man’s pants, teasing at the growing bulge underneath his boxers (boxers which continued the Star Wars theme he was amused to see). Harry groaned appreciatively then made a noise of protest at the back of his throat as John’s hand moved away from his cock. John gripped Harry’s hips, using the space he’d forged to slip his fingers underneath the band of Harry’s underwear then to the cleave of the his ass. John’s fingertips drifted down and in, making his intentions clear as he gripped him tight even as his right forefinger gently circled at the rim Harry’s entrance.

Harry gasped, freezing like deer in the headlights for a long moment before he shivered. John noted his every reaction, wondering if he was moving too fast but if he was then Harry certainly wasn’t stopping him.

“Hell’s bells,” Harry groaned against John’s mouth.

John took that for encouragement. He was about to dig for the lube in his pocket when Harry broke away from John’s mouth with a wet pop making John grunt in protest at the loss of him.

Harry patted John’s chest with his free hand as he gasped for breath with his lips slick and red, “I-I, ah, I made dinner.” Harry’s dark eyes were wide, his cheeks had gone pink again. He squirmed on top of John in a way that made John mentally swear.

Fuck, he _wanted_ him.

John nuzzled Harry’s neck, grazing his Adam’s apple with his teeth because it was too tempting a target. He wanted to ask him if it would keep but reminded himself of Harry’s old-fashioned sense of romance. He’d made a mistake last time when he’d been focused on his own desires.

John learned from his errors and made every effort to minimize the possibility of repeating them. So no matter how much he just wanted to roll over Harry and ignore the offer of food for something a hundred times more satisfying he controlled it.

“Hmm, I could eat,” John said instead, with look which hopefully stated clearly that he’d happy take up the offer of more than food but was leaving the choice up to Harry. He shifted his touch into something less demanding and more lingering, still enjoying the feel of skin and shifting muscles shifting underneath his hands.

The view of Harry above him, holding red roses and in a state of approaching dishabille with his jeans open, the bugle of his semi-hard-on clearly visible, his shirt riding up to expose his flat abdomen and an enticing trail of dark hairs leading down past the border created by elastic of his underwear, made John’s grip on Harry’s hips tighten before he forced his fingers to loosen again. He still kept them on Harry, sliding them down to his thighs. John thought of spreading them wider to settle between them.

Harry nodded as he glanced over the couch towards the direction of the small kitchenette. “Let’s eat first. The steaks are done and I don’t want them to dry out.” He turned to look back at John, his eyes intent. “You’re planning on staying the night, right?”

“Yes,” John said. It had taken coordination and creative juggling to clear his schedule well into next morning on such short notice. He’d even made it clear to his managers – in all of his businesses – that they better be able to handle any emergencies for the next twelve hours or they’d need to consider other employment. Immediately. Even his captains and lieutenants had gotten standing orders that attacks by any competitors were to be met with vicious retaliation while not breaking any of his stated rules, of course. That he would not tolerate at any time.

Reluctantly, John pulled his hands away letting Harry get up. The man straightened his clothing, to John’s regret, before he offered his free hand to John. He let himself be pulled to his feet although indulged himself by refusing to let Harry go. 

Harry shot him an amused look but returned the grip. He led him to a chair before a small wooden table before he headed for his kitchen. 

John’s attention was caught by oddly nervous energy in Harry’s movements as he looked for a safe place for the flowers pausing only to pulled the food away from the stove-top. But then he was distracted by the sight of Harry’s legs and ass as the man bent to grab something from underneath the lower cabinets. Those legs regularly played the starring role in John’s thoughts when it came to the other man. And he didn’t often get to enjoy the sight of Harry without his leather duster blocking his view. 

John was riveted.

Should he ever be questioned on the topic John would confess without hesitation that everything about Harry had had his attention at one point or another but he had a special fondness for those legs as they were long and beautifully toned.

Now all he could think about was being between them with those thighs open and holding him there. The thought of finally seeing the rest of the naked sprawling span of Harry Dresden before him was too tempting. John restrained himself for several minutes watching Harry gather the food, plates and cutlery before he gave in, indulging in his longing for the other man. 

John got off the chair, taking advantage of his socked feet to soundlessly stalk closer. Harry was no fool, had clearly seen or felt him grow nearer because he didn’t so much as twitch as John said at his back, “I’ve been thinking about you every night for the last few days. About taking off your clothes and being between your legs.”

Harry glanced over at him, blushing as he raised his eyebrows skeptically. “Dirty talk, really John?” he asked incredulously.

The smile which had been gracing John’s lips from the moment he’d seen Harry widened hungrily. “That? I’d hardly call it dirty talk, Harry. It’s only the truth.”

The crimson flush reached all the way up to Harry’s ears this time and down his throat. Then Harry laughed and shook his head before turning from the counter and sweeping John up in another kiss. 

John let himself be swept away. He returned the kiss, raising onto his toes to get closer, feeling the desire to draw Harry back to the couch were he’d be horizontal and every piece of him would be within easy reach.

Then Harry’s mouth returned to being soft and gentle. Like he found it amazing that John was there. 

John hardly didn’t need the reminder of Harry’s romantic bent, but he found himself being swayed by the wordless message delivered in the kisses. Or maybe it was the candlelit ambiance or being in Harry’s inner sanctum but his urgency slowly subsided. He felt no less voracious in his sexual desire for the other man but knowing that Harry welcomed every touch, wanted John to kiss him and touch him tapped down upon the irrational feeling that he needed to stake a claim on the man. _Now_ , before he changed his mind.

Instead, John could stretch out the moment and revel in it.

John pulled away to murmur, “Did you actually make dinner? Or merely warm something up?”

“Hey, I can cook,” Harry protested with mock-offense.

John shot Harry a skeptical look, too aware of the other man’s fondness for Burger King, Coco-cola and cheap pizza. He said blandly, “I’m on tenterhooks in anticipation to see the results.”

Harry snorted and reminded of his duties as the host he peeled himself away, making John’s hands and finger flex with the desire to grab a hold and draw him back into his arms. He controlled himself and made himself wait.

Dinner had put together was a simple meal of steak, roasted potatoes with butter and chives and steamed green beans with seasonings no more complicated than salt and black pepper. It would normally not have rated as being particularly impressive (except for the beer which John could honestly say was among the best he’d ever tasted) at least until John realized that Harry had cooked the entire meal on a stove heated by firewood and with absolutely no electricity of any sort to help him. He doubted most trained chefs would have been able to produce anything nearly as edible with such restrictions. 

“I _am_ impressed,” John said, as he swallowed down the final bite of his meal. He drank the rest of his bottle of McAnally’s beer, settling the brown bottle down onto the tabletop. 

Harry’s pleased smile, spoke volumes. “Do you want another?” he asked, tilting his head to the bottle.

“If you would,” John said. “I’ve tried McAnally’s before but I’ve never tasted this particular brew.”

Harry snickered as he got up. “That’s because Mac likes me. And he saves the best limited runs for his favorite customers.” Harry’s smirk was very self-satisfied. 

“Hmm, hardly the best business practice,” John said, disgruntled. Harry just laughed at him.

When Harry came back with two unopened cold bottles in his right hand he didn’t stop at the table. Instead he settled onto John’s lap with an awkward air of self-consciousness, using his left hand to balance himself against the chair’s back.

Instantly, John abandoned all plans he’d been mentally developing as to how he would go about getting into the good graces of the proprietor of one of the rare Accorded Neutral Grounds in Chicago. Which would be a good investment even without the incentive of having access to extraordinarily good beer. He lost interest in everything but the man in his lap. 

He felt a flash of relief that Harry had a preference for solid wood furnishings for he doubted anything cheap would have held up under their combined weights.

Harry’s mouth was cool, tasting of the bitter dark brew they’d been drinking, but it quickly heated as John fiercely kissed him back.

Harry finally settled the bottles with a pair of clinks on the table as he pulled away from John’s mouth. “Okay, I wasn’t planning on doing that but you looked like you were plotting.”

“And you couldn’t resist foiling my plans?” John asked lightly.

Harry’s unrepentant grin was fierce. “Well… that’s what I do.”

Helplessly caught by the sight John smiled back. 

In all honesty, he expected nothing less not even with their changing relationship. Their moralities were too different on most matters. John fully expected to have Harry constantly challenging him on that score. The other man’s need to save others, to stand between monsters and whom he considered innocents (or not so innocent as was the case the couple of times he saved _him_ ) was a character trait that John would have found tedious in anyone else. Knowing the depth of the streak of heroism which ran in Harry and how it drew forth the same in others… well, John simply found it fascinating. He often thought about the night in the White Court’s caves and how Harry – knowing what John was down to his core – had looked into his eyes and asked John be more than a monster. Harry had swallowed his stiff-necked pride and pleaded for the lives of utter strangers with nothing to bargain with but hope.

Hope in John.

John often wondered if _that_ was the moment he began falling for Harry Dresden, appropriate in a place called the Deeps. 

So he was hardly about to protest Harry’s decision to be distracting by kissing him. From Harry, John welcomed all such attempts. 

“Well, so far you haven’t managed to derail anything. If anything,” he added, shifting his right hand until he pressed it to the front of Harry’s jeans. He dropped his voice until it purred, “I do believe I have you right where I want you.”

The fire in Harry’s gaze blazed higher. He groaned, shifted and opened his legs until he was straddling John. He gripped John’s shoulders and leaned his forehead against John’s own.

“Stars and stones… John, you really have no brakes do you,” he said, his voice even deeper than usual as he breathed faster. 

“Hmm,” John said noncommittally, because he’d already proved he had excellent self-control when it was warranted. Instead of contesting the point he asked instead, “Tell me what you want.”

“Um, okay, well this is new to me so just slow down a bit.”

John blinked. Then it felt like a lot of little clues gathered together with that confession and fell upon him like the proverbial pile of bricks. He stilled, then drew his hands away to rest on Harry’s thighs.

“Harry…have ever had sex with a man before?” John asked, cautious and incredulous. 

What about Thomas Raith? He’d lived with Harry for over a year. And more importantly, he was a White Court vampire. Even after he’d moved out the rumors circling within the CPD had been definite about the nature of their relationship. Although, those rumors had never been confirmed by his own intelligence agents John abruptly remembered. It threw that entire relationship into a different light if the reports of how often Raith came to Harry’s defense and fought at his side proved accurate and they _hadn’t_ been sleeping together. John mentally flagged the thought for later consideration and filed it away.

Suddenly, John was glad he hadn’t questioned the rumors. If he’d thought Harry was straight, as the only confirmed relationship in his romantic history had been with Susan Rodriguez, then John would never have begun this endeavor. No matter what he felt about the man John was not so arrogant as to believe he’d be some sort of exception to someone whose tastes ran only to women. He’d honestly thought Harry dated men as well. John had never entertained the notion that he’d be inexperienced having sex with a man after living with a beautiful, if deadly, incubus. 

But apparently, this was where they were, with Harry deciding that he would also take steps in a new direction he’d never before traveled. 

John was bewildered that anyone would look at who he was (he considered himself a professional monster for a reason) and decide they’d explore outside their noted heterosexually with _him._

He thought, not for the first time since he’d met the man, that Harry Dresden had the survival instincts of tap dancer on a minefield. Or maybe those concussions he kept acquiring were causing permanent damage. Absently, John wondered what it would take to get him into an MRI machine.

“It can’t be that different,” Harry muttered, settling his chin into his usual stubborn jut and his dark eyes narrowed with hard-headed determination. The flame in them burned brighter than ever.

John decided being blunt was the only way gauge the situation. “Have you ever had anal sex?” he asked, carefully watching Harry.

“What? You want my entire dating history?” Harry asked, scowling but also blushing.

John found the sight of that scowl distracting wanting to taste it with his mouth and feel it under his fingertips but he made himself focus. Instead, he asked, “Would you blame me for wanting to be certain that you know what you’re doing?”

Harry snorted. “Like that’s ever stopped me before.” 

“Yes,” John agreed dryly. “Because that’s a tactic which has never gotten you into trouble.” 

Harry laugh was self-deprecating and he tilted his head in acknowledgment of the hit. Then he shrugged before looking away from John and reluctantly admitting, “Fine. As a teenager I had live-in girlfriend and guardian who didn’t care what we got up to. So we tried everything. At least three times, once to see if we liked it, another to see if it was fluke and one more time after that to check if that was a fluke.”

John considered that answer then thought about a teenage boy’s male pride even as he noted the unexpected details of Harry’s past. “Lucky you. But were you ever on the receiving end?”

“Um,” Harry said as he glanced back, telling John everything with that non-answer.

So he adjusted his plans, shuffling certain desired outcomes to a future date. Flexibility and adaptability were vital skill sets when it came to securing and maximize success of one’s goals. Fucking Harry was a benefit. Having him, in any was that he’d allow, and _keeping_ him was the real prize.

Harry’s eyebrows drew together as his fire-dark eyes stared down at John. “Wait, are you freaking out?”

“No,” John said, amused at the idea. “Although I am concerned _you_ might.”

Harry huffed in outrage for moment then grimaced and acknowledged, “I’m not saying that’s not a possibility but I wouldn’t have invited you into my home if I wasn’t serious about this –” he waved his burn-scarred left hand at the space encompassing them. Including the table, the remnants of dinner Harry had made, and the entirely cliché and yet necessary candles lit around the apartment.

John considered him for moment, remembering how the other man hadn’t actually backed off at any point while John had had his hands on him. Or how he’d reacted to John’s touch during their time in Undertown or in the hotel room later on.

He was still on John’s lap. And there was a possessive tightness to his grip on John’s shoulders, which said more than any words. Harry seemed to agree because he tightened his hold for moment, then he slid his hands down John’s chest until he reached John’s waist where he began unbuckling his belt and then the buttons of John’s jeans. 

John barely had the chance to blink before he felt Harry’s broad hand on his semi-hard cock.

He moaned, low in his throat. A sound which was completely involuntary. 

This was the first time Harry had actually put his hands on him. On his cock. The touch was enough to send a jolts of lust through him, revving him to full throttle. 

Harry’s hand was dry, but he seemed to realize the problem at once, because he let go of John’s hard-on, licked his palm and fingers and settled his wet grip back before John could even verbalize his protest at the loss. Panting, John clutched at Harry’s thighs then slid his hands up until he was underneath Harry’s shirt so he had skin under his fingers, as Harry mouthed John’s neck. He nipped at John’s collarbone which surprised a low grunt out of him. 

“It isn’t like I haven’t thought about this either, you know,” Harry said quietly, against John’s lower jaw. John tilted back his head to let accommodate him. Harry kissed John’s chin, slowly getting back to John’s parted lips. His fingers were still moving on John’s cock, albeit tortuously slow. “And yeah, men aren’t my thing… usually. At least that’s what I always thought but maybe it’s less it’s another guy thing than it was a lack of anything serious on offer.” He pulled back enough to stare down at John.

John made himself focus on him.

“I don’t do one-night stands, John. If you hadn’t been serious from the beginning it wouldn’t have mattered how persistent you’d been. I’d never have asked you out much less invited into my home.” 

“If– If I hadn’t been sincere, I wouldn’t have asked,” John said, fighting to keep his voice even but roughness leaked through. He was trying to not get completely lost in the reality of Harry touching him, gripping him and sliding his long, damp fingers up and down John’s cock with startling confidence. 

“I know,” said Harry his voice low, his dark-fire gaze intent. Knowing he had Harry’s entire attention focused completely on himself (greedy for it), John rolled his hips, driving up into Harry’s grip. He was already leaking from the crown of his reddening cock-head. His balls ached. He wanted to grab Harry and carry him to the nearest flat surface, dropping him down, climbing up over him, thrusting against his skin until they both came.

He let his desire flare in his eyes, letting his expression show ever the direction of his thoughts.

It seemed to hit Harry exactly what he was doing because his blush returned full force. Fortunately, he didn’t stop touching John’s cock.

John would be a liar if he didn’t admit, even if only to himself, that his inner predator growled hungrily at the sight at that blush. There were many ways to enjoy being between Harry’s legs than just fucking him (later, those were plans for a later date). 

Knowing Harry was watching him, John caught his eyes and then deliberately, slowly opened his mouth and licked his lower lip.

Harry’s dark eyes went wide, then glazed over, before swooping down to devour John’s mouth with a hunger which felt honest and unrestrained. It settled John’s lingering concern. Until Harry actually said stop, he was going to take him at his word that he was willing and knew full well what he wanted.

Harry mumbled against John’s mouth, “Bed. We need a bed.”

“Well, – ah – if you’re offering, my own is a considerable distance away.”

“Smartass,” said Harry, before chanting, “Bed. Bed. Bed.” 

John half-expected a bed to materialize out of magic and thin air, considering the rule of magic being enhanced when used in sets of three.

Instead, Harry released John’s hard-on, which made him groan in protest, before he pulled John up after him. John drew him back down to kiss him again and together they staggered towards the closed bedroom door. John managed to re-open the top button of Harry’s jeans to get his own hands on him, when Harry abruptly froze upon opening the door. Matching his cue, John also paused.

“Dammit, Mister is asleep on the bed.”

John shot him a puzzled look, then glanced into the room, noting a Mickey Mouse clock, more bookshelves, a nightstand, and a the large gray sleeping tomcat sprawled over a surprising considerable area of a twin bed (a size which made John blink in bafflement and wonder how Harry ever managed a comfortable night’s sleep with his tall frame on such a short mattress). “And this is problem because…?”

“Clearly, you’ve never shared living space with a cat,” Harry said, frowning at the bed. “You don’t move them while they’re sleeping. Not if you value your life.” He redirected them. “Couch, couch, couch.”

John was amused but willing to go along with it. He aware that Harry had a sense of humor which could be best described as juvenile, ridiculous, and geeky (exhibition one: Harry’s current socks) but considering he looked even more frustrated than anything else John was willing to accept this as a quirk of owning a large cat.

As they approached the couch, John considered the knife sheaths underneath his gray shirt and released Harry so he could rolled back his right sleeve. He quickly undid the straps which held the knife sheath to his forearm. 

“Knives… of course there are also knives,” Harry muttered. He eyed the rest of closed buttons of John’s shirt warily. He asked, “There isn’t anything that’ll explode if I tug on it, is there?”

“Just don’t cut the red wire.”

Harry huffed a laugh, seemed to realize he was being absurd because it was hardly like John would have gone out of his way to make himself difficult to strip down. Especially on this night of all nights. His long fingers started undoing the mother-of-pearl buttons on John’s shirt even as John grabbed the end of Harry’s shirt to pull it over his head.

Later, John wouldn’t be able to recall exactly how they managed it as he had been too taken by the sight of Harry’s bared chest, flat pink nipples and hip bones (which looked to be a perfect fit for his hands) to the undone top gap of his jeans – which was a visual tease – but somehow they got so tangled up in removing shirts and pulling down jeans, getting them caught around the knees that they both ended up in a knot of clothing and limps atop of one another on the rugs before the blazing fireplace.

John couldn’t help it, a series of amused, low chuckles bubbled out of him. For anyone else they would have been the equivalent of unrestrained belly laughs.

The entire scene was never one that he’d ever imagined himself in, especially not with a new lover. John too aware of his body, of his movements and how they may need to be turned into an attack or defense in a split-second. Clumsiness wasn’t something he attributed to himself since being a teenager. But if you added Harry Dresden and his field of chaos into the mix then it was practically guaranteed that even John would lose his cultivated poise.

He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d laughed so unrestrained while in the presence of another person who wasn’t Hendricks. 

Clearly embarrassed, Harry groaned into John’s chest which was still covered by the thin inner shirt. “I _swear_ I’m actually capable of being a good date.”

“Well, I’m still willing to be convinced,” John said as he untangled his shirt’s sleeves from his left arm’s knife sheath. He arched his back, shifting Harry off of him as he undid a set of straps which kept another knife sheathe at small of his back and two at his shoulder blades. Once the leather straps were undone he pulled off his inner white shirt. He dropped the everything the floor, even as he kicked off the jeans and underwear trapping his lower legs, a leg sheathe and his feet.

He looked up to discover Harry staring at him. John gratified to find his eyes caught on his chest, arms and drifting downwards.

John’s hard-on stood at attention below his gaze.

John bent his knees, twisting to undo the last leg sheathe when Harry’s warm hands caught his foot. 

“Here, let me,” Harry asked quietly. His right fingers were nimble, although his left hand moved stiffly, he undid the straps of the knife sheathe with ease before also stripped away John’s socks.

Leaving him completely naked on the rugs while Harry still retained his Star Wars themed attire. 

Harry stared.

John let him take in his fill for the better part of a minute.

“Are you going to remove the last of your clothes? Or do you want me to do it for you?” John asked thoughtfully, either way intrigued him.

Harry blinked at him, like it hadn’t even occurred to him to finish undressing.

Deciding to take matters into his own hands, John moved, striking fast until Harry lay beneath him and he was between those gorgeous legs like he’d wanted for far too long. 

Lit by the fireplace, orange flames were reflected in Harry’s startled eyes. The entire sight of the man, lean and built along the sparse lines of a long-distance runner, with dark hair curling on his chest, the corded muscle in his arms, the scars which where scattered throughout from a nearly invisible bullet wound on his hip, another in his shoulder, to numerous other scars with unknown origins which John was desperate to learn.

He was easily the most magnificent man John had ever had in his arms.

“Stars! How in the hell do you move so damned fast?” Harry asked in disbelief, staring up at John with a hand raised like he’d instinctive sought to bring forth magic.

John shot him an amused look, deliberately tapping his fingers where they rested on the waistband of Harry’s tented boxers. “You honestly want me to stop and give you an in-depth explanation of my training regimen? Now?” He tilted his head and teased, “If you insist I will.”

“What! No, nope! I take it back. I don’t want to know!”

Chuckling, John pulled away Harry’s underwear, taking his own movement to look his fill. He’d known the man’s cock was bigger than average, longer and wider as it had been unmistakable when he’d gotten a hold of it before. Surprisingly it wasn’t obvious simply by looking at him, until it sunk in that it was perfectly proportioned to Harry’s taller-than-average scale.

Harry’s erection stood arched towards his stomach, dripping with pre-cum. The smell and the sight of the red flared head it made John’s mouth ache. Even here the faint smell of wood-smoke was bound to the muskier scent of a turned-on man.

As John looked his fill Harry’s hard-on twitched, and more pearly fluid gathered at the crown.

John leaned over so that his own cock pressed right next to Harry’s own. It took everything he had not to just grip Harry’s hips and thrust against him. He had more ambitious goals in mind for this night.

John mouthed at Harry’s neck, “I repeat, tell me what you want.”

“You. Your hands. Your mouth. Anything.”

“Anything? Such carte blanche is dangerous, Harry,” John growled. “Because I want to fuck you. I want to open you up with my fingers, with my mouth, and have you come on my cock.”

Harry made a low shocked noise. 

John licked at his neck, tasting the salt of gathering sweat. “But I’m willing to wait. Because when I do fuck you, it’ll be because you’re asking me to because you want me with all the hunger that I want you.”

“You think I don’t want you now?” Harry rasped. His eyes narrowed like he was being challenged. He thrust up into John, the roll of his hips deliberate. His drooling cock left slick smears of cum over John, on his groin, his cock and his abdomen. “Because I’ve got one compelling piece of evidence that says otherwise.”

John arched his eyebrows. “Are you saying you want me to fuck you now?”

“Um,” Harry said, turning bright red.

“I thought so,” John said, shooting him an exasperated look. He leaned closer, whispering into Harry’s ear. He purred, “I’m not going to be done with you after one night, one year, or a decade, Harry Dresden. You can trust my word on that.” 

“Oh,” Harry said, the word more an exhale than anything else.

John moved down, Harry’s chest, enjoying teasing grazing his nipples with his teeth and as he mouthed his way to Harry’s cock. Harry flexed his thighs apart.

“Oh, oh, _fuck_ ,” Harry whimpered, as John gripped the base of Harry’s hard-on and licked at the crown’s tip with a swipe of his tongue. He swallowed down the bitter taste then chased for more with his mouth.

The sound that came of Harry’s mouth as John drew him in deep as he could, nearly made John come. He had to get a grip on his cock, close his eyes and breathe steadily through his nose to keep himself under control.

Harry was trembling under his hands. John had thought he’d need to control the man’s hips to keep from choking but Harry just waited him out. When John opened his eyes it was to the sight of Harry on his elbows, staring at him with nothing but want in his dark eyes. His mouth parted as he breathed harshly.

The usual flame in them was an inferno. A fire-storm of hunger and lust.

It was everything which John wanted to see in Harry. It settled something deep inside of him. 

He buried his nose Harry’s wiry pubic hairs before pulling back, sucking at the head as it rested on his tongue. 

This time Harry’s hips rose up. John let him fuck his mouth, letting Harry control the moment. Instead he watched Harry’s expression, the way his dark-fire eyes drifted close and then opened again, heavy-lidded, looking drunk on pleasure.

“Fuck… John,” Harry murmured, sounding dazed. He flopped back flat, even as he lifted his fingers to bury them into John’s hair, until they were cupping the back of John’s head. He wasn’t grabbing, wasn’t trying to control the blowjob. He was just touching.

John slowly sank his mouth back down on Harry’s cock, sucking gently, pressing with his tongue, tasting bitterness on his mouth and drinking it down with loud gulps every time he pulled back. He gently tugged on Harry’s balls, touching his shaft with his fingers, feeling the tender skin of his open thighs with his palms.

John stroked his own erection, unable to resist the gorgeous sight before him. Too turned on to even think of controlling himself. Not now. 

Harry seemed to know. He grunted in protest before tugging gently at John’s hair to get his attention. “Wait, wait, come up here.”

John let Harry’s hard-on slip away from his mouth, a little surprised. Not many men stopped a blowjob in the middle of it. At least not one they were fully enjoying. He did as Harry asked, trying not to frown. 

Harry just grabbed him and rolled them over so he was atop of them before kissing John. Their legs tangled together. Harry curled in his spine, shortening his frame until he could kiss John and thrust his erection into John’s groin, sliding slickly lengthwise beside John’s hard-on. 

“Like this, I want to come like this,” Harry panted, glancing straight John’s eyes, locking his gaze intently.

John understood at once. 

Not wanting to lose his sight of the other man, John grasped blindly for where he’d left his jeans until he found the pocket with the lube. He pulled the tube out, flicked up the cap one handed and squeezed out a dollop. With slippery fingers, John reached between them and wrapped his hand around both of their cocks. Harry’s broader hand joined him, and tightened deliciously over him until their hands entwined and they created tight wet space to fuck into.

Harry’s scarred hand returned to the back of John’s head and held him there as he slowly kissed him.

The slow thrust of his hips, matched the movement of his tongue and John let himself match it, melt into the moment. His eyes fluttered closed for instant until he felt Harry draw back. He opened them up to see Harry above him, looking at him with an expression that John could only describe as enthralled. 

The sight combined all the shades of pleasure building within him became too much.

“Fuck, _fuck_ ,” John gritted through his teeth. He arched his back and came hard. 

Harry made a startled noise above him, then thrust once, twice into their shared grasp before he followed John over the edge, coming with hot wet spurts which slicked John’s stomach with their combined come. 

Then he collapsed onto John’s chest, panting hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *throws confetti*
> 
> *rubs hands* now, for the epilogue. =D


	3. Epilogue

Harry was a heavy, but satisfying weight on John’s chest. It was few minutes before he stirred. He looked up and smiled at John, in such an artless but delighted way that the strength of its authenticity made John’s breath catch.

John continued indulging himself with stroking firm fingers in Harry’s hair. His dark eyes swept closed for moment before opening again, heavy lidded but looking at John through his lashes. John wondered if Harry was aware of how seductive the look was although he rather doubted it.

Harry watched him for a quiet moment not making a word of protest, only moving aside as John – tired of being covered in semen – grabbed Harry’s t-shirt to clean them both off. 

Only when he was done did Harry said, “So, the things you said… you’ve been wanting me for a while, haven’t you?” His dark-eyes were shrewd as he watched John. “A helluva lot longer than a year.”

“Yes,” John confessed, unashamed.

“And… um… you really want to…”

“Fuck you?” John offered helpfully. Harry groaned and buried his face against his scarred left hand. 

John arched his eyebrow. “We’ve just had sex. You were in my mouth. How can you still be embarrassed?” 

Harry flapped his right hand at him. When he finally pulled his hand away he was still pink-cheeked, but also glaring which frankly was always a delightful sight to John’s eyes. He enjoyed seeing Harry scowling more than was probably healthy considering the man’s noted temper.

Harry cleared his throat and asked, “If it turns out it’s not my cup of tea?” 

“I figure I get at least three tries to convince you otherwise,” John said, his hands following the knobs of Harry’s spine down to the dip before his ass. He stroked him possessively. Harry shivered. “Once if you liked it, a second to see if it was a fluke, and a third to see if that was a fluke. Wasn’t that how you put it?”

Harry’s eye roll could probably be seen from outer space. Harry huffed in exaggerated outrage. He glared, “Of course, you’d use my own words against me.”

John was not about to apologize for being himself. It wasn’t as if Harry wasn’t aware he would exploit any opening he gave him.

After a moment of silence, Harry added slowly, “And you’d let me do the same to you?”

“Fuck me?” John asked, just to see Harry’s cheeks go appealingly pink at the profanity. His smile widened slowly into something predatory and hungry. There wasn’t anyone on the planet to whom John would consider rolling over for, and none he be willing to actually let down his guard around to that extent. The sole exception was the man before him because he hungered for all of Harry Dresden, in every way he could get him. “Yes.”

This close, John could see the impact his words had on Harry. Even with a room lit only with firelight, his pupils visibly widened as his breath hitched. 

The grip his large hands had on John tightened to nearly bruising before relaxing. “Now?” Harry asked, a growl deepening his voice into a register which sent a scrape of sensation down John’s spine and into his gut. The flame in Harry’s eyes flared and his hips hitched against John’s bare stomach, letting him feel Harry’s growing erection.

John blinked, taken aback.

“It’s only been about fifteen minutes,” he said in disbelief, through narrowing eyes. “You can’t possibly have this kind of recovery time. You’re no longer a teenager.”

Harry cocked his head thoughtfully, like he didn’t think there was anything strange about it when he was in his early thirties. “What? You need a little more time?”

John dropped his head back until it thumped into the rug padded floor. He said coldly, “Mr. Dresden, I always knew you’d try to kill me one day.”

Harry’s head popped into John’s field a view, concern writ across his face as he frowned worriedly at John.

John glared ice and continued crossly. “I just didn’t think your weapon of choice would be your _hard-on._ ” 

Harry’s dark-fire eyes widened. Then he caught on, bursting out into a rolling bellow of a belly laugh. He flopped down beside John in stitches.

John kept up his cold glare, although the corners of his lips twitched. Once.

Harry managed to choke out, “What you need an hour? Oh, wait, I got one: the penis is mightier than the –”

Instantly, John reached for the couch, grabbed a pillow, and pummeled Harry with it before he finished his terrible joke. It was something John suspected, he would be doing more than once just this night alone. And knowing Harry’s juvenile sense of humor even more often in the future.

“I rescind my offer,” he said flatly.

Harry was grinning, managed to dodge another strike and rolled over John, using the basic method of completely flattening his opponent with his weight to get him to stop his attacks.

And while John did know several methods to get out of from under him, he rather liked his new position of having Harry along the full length of his front, feeling warm bare skin on every single inch of him. Feeling the lingering faint tremors of his earthquake laughter sending aftershocks through them both.

John’s breath hitched. Harry’s amusement faded away and he stared down at him.

“No, you don’t,” Harry breathed above, the heat in his eyes was smoldering.

John hummed noncommittally. “It’s possible I could be persuaded, Mr. Dresden.” He let his smile grow slowly. “What do you have to offer?”

Harry’s smile was knowing and wolfish. He leaned close to John’s ear and growled low, “Offer? I think all I have to do is ask. Please. Pretty please. With a cherry on top.”

John swallowed, feeling his cock twitch at the rolling words. But still he was only mortal. “I’m going to need a bit more than an hour,” he admitted. 

Harry snickered.

John’s eyes narrowed. Then he rolled over, getting his hand on Harry’s hardening erection even as he pressed him into the rugs.

“Now, here’s a question I’m now curious to discover the answer to: what _is_ the limit of wizardly endurance?”

Harry was still grinning, “I think it’s a little like finding how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie-pop. The world may never know.”

“An experiment was run, the answer was 364. We have one. Let’s work on two. And then we’ll see about the other 362,” John purred,

“362?” Harry gulped. “Hell’s bells. And you accused _me_ of trying to kill you with sex.”

John grinned with a smile to make a shark envious, before sliding down Harry’s chest until got his mouth on Harry’s cock again. 

End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fill in your own answer to Harry's terrible joke.
> 
> Also I like to think Marcone knows all sorts of random facts because Hendricks will ply him with weird ones whenever he thinks John's losing his temper at idiots in his organization. =D
> 
> Um, the next fic from me in this series may take a while. The next DF fanfic I write is going to be my 50th in the fandom and I want to write something post-Battle Ground and hopefully looooonnnng. Because, seriously, the all shenanigans has me inspired. =D


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